


Enchantress of Luck

by Sea_Leo



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, But I was inspired, F/M, Identity Reveal, Romance, Slow Burn, The AU no one asked for, Witches & Warlocks AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sea_Leo/pseuds/Sea_Leo
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a witch destined for greatness. Although through her clumsiness and lack of success in creating new spells she grows doubtful, only finding confidence in a secret identity she names "Ladybug." Moving out of Paris and into a village on the outskirts she lives her life there running a small shop, taking commissions for spells and selling ingredients and herbs, but at night she becomes Ladybug, the healer called in tragedy and sickness. She is content with her life, until Gabriel Agreste and his son Adrien Agreste move into the village as the designer searches for inspiration. Oddly enough the rumors of monsters following the Agreste's seem to be true, and the Ladybug is called on for not just sickness and tragedy but crisis.





	Enchantress of Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fanfiction in this fandom, but I'll save you the introduction and let you read. I'll try my best to keep people posted, you can follow me on my main tumblr sea-leo.tumblr.com
> 
> Let's all just imagine this is JUST out of the Elizabethan Era.

A sense of ambiance fills the room, as the soft sounds of a crackling fire and the bubbles in the small cauldron above it are companied with the clicking of leather boot heels on the stone floors, echoing in the tower.

Marinette’s heavy sigh filled the room as she slumped her shoulders, staring down at her unusually shaped familiar, Tikki. The familiar had antennae and was red spotted with black, she blinked at Marinette, her giant eyes judging silently.

“I will not mess up this time.” Marinette turned her attention to the cauldron on the wooden worktable. She took a deep breath as she wrote the final ingredient in her grimoire. Hemlock. Potent when ingested, magical properties unknown.

Tikki blinked once more and flew away, using her silver wings that emerged from her back to propel herself behind a jar of seaweed on the counter adjacent to the table. Marinette rolled her eyes, picking up the jar of Hemlock, the setting sun coming through the window to her right illuminating the flowers.

“Attempt number fifty-seven. Lucky number…fifty-seven.” She spoke to herself with hope, wavering slightly on the final words.

Setting down the jar, she stepped back and grabbed a leather glove from a compartment on the desk behind her. Marinette slid on the glove, glancing out the window and gazing at the sunset illuminating the village she called home. A beautiful mix of stone and wood buildings shined effortlessly in the sun’s orange light. She really hoped she wouldn’t blow it up.

Taking one more deep breath, she straightened her spine, resting her shoulders back. She twisted her lips and furrowed her brows to make her best look of determination. She turned around, taking her time with each step, and approached the cauldron.

Marinette was a born witch, her parents were witches, her grandparents were witches. Her father and mother had single-handedly created some of the most effective healing spells of the time. Her grandmother travelled the world, discovering new herbs and plants, and even making hybrid plants, mastering spells of creation. If they could do it, Marinette wasn’t short behind them.

Moving her gloved hand into the jar of hemlock, Marinette used her free hand to pick up the jar, peering into it with narrowed eyes. Finding the perfect bud, she picked it out and held it in front of her eyes, examining its every vein and color. It had to be _just_ right; she had studied enough of her father’s work to know that when making a new spell, _everything_ had to be just right.

Turning the bud once more, Marinette smiled with content. She took a step back and extended her arm over the cauldron, turning her head to look the other way and closing her eyes tight. She began to loosen her grip on the stem, slow enough that the anticipation had built from her gut to her heart to her arms, causing her hands to shake like she hadn’t eaten in a few hours. Sighing, she thought to herself, even if it doesn’t work, she’ll figure it out; but she won’t know that it is wrong until she tries. All she needs to do is completely let-

SLAM!

“AH!”

BOOM!

“Oh…”

In a series of event’s only described as Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s dumb luck; as she was about to drop the final ingredient into a spell she’d been attempting to create for the past three weeks, her father, Tom Dupain, slammed the door of her tower open. This scared Marinette into dropping the ingredient which turned out to not be the best choice for the spell, causing the cauldron to create a booming sound that shook the tower and spouted a once almost functioning spell all over the walls and worktable.

Marinette stared at the floor of the tower, her arms slumped in front of her and her dark locks falling onto her face.

"Sorry Marinette!” Tom said, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck.

Sighing, she straightened herself, turning to her father and forcing a smile. “It’s okay, papa. Just the wrong ingredient is all.”

Marinette grabbed a rag hanging off the wrought-iron design that held up the wooden table. She scrubbed around the cauldron and picked it up with the towel, setting it aside and blowing out the fire.

“You’ll find the right one. You’re my daughter!” Tom gestured to himself with his thumb.

Marinette giggled, keeping her gaze on the table, rubbing her fingers along the indents in the wood. Tom approached the table and set down a bag, she furrowed her brows, looking at the bag.

“More of Maman’s special pastries?”

“Even better!” Tom pulled out a jar covered in cloth, holding it out, he pulled off the cloth to reveal burning coals. Marinette gasped.

“How did you get those?”

“I didn’t, your mother did! Spent a whole week trying to figure out how to keep them burning forever. And she nailed it today! She thought you would want some.”

Marinette beamed, her fingers twitched, longing to get her hands on the jar, but she sighed. “You can put it on the counter, Papa. I better not touch it, don’t want to drop it.” She breathed out a sheepish laugh.

Tom nodded and walked past her, placing the jar beside the one Tikki was hiding behind. He turned to Marinette and leaned on the counter, placing his hands behind him.

“Is something wrong, Marinette?”

“No! Not at all, just… focused.” She gestured to her grimoire, almost completely filled with failed attempts at new spells.

Tom smiled brightly as he approached the table, picking up the grimoire and stifling through the pages. Marinette’s smile faded, she swallowed the lump in her throat and began tapping her pointer fingers, scanning the tower instead of looking at him.

Tom closed the book and set it down, turning to her and smiling. “You’re doing great, Marinette!”

“I am?” She looked up at him, the bright smile never ceasing to leave his face. He really believed something destined her to be a great witch. Even when she clumsily caused the family apothecary to explode and collapsed a (abandoned) building while trying to do an incantation. He had even supported her every step of the way when she said she wanted to move to a village just outside of Paris and start her own business.

Tom placed his hands on Marinette’s shoulders, he leant down to meet her eyes and narrowed his in determination.

“Marinette, you are a great witch. And if you don’t believe it now, you will soon! You just haven’t found the right footing yet.” He nodded and stood straight, putting his hands on his hips, tilting his head up in a triumphant pose. “You are Marinette Dupain-Cheng, witch extraordinaire.”

He looked to Marinette; his eyes wide in expectance. Marinette sighed, straightening herself, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips.

“I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng… witch extraordinaire!”

“Yea!” Tom wrapped Marinette into a warm hug and picked her up, spinning her around. His smile widening as she laughed.

 Tom put her down, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I better head back to town before your mother misses me too much. I love you Marinette.”

Marinette giggled. “Love you too, Papa. Thank you for coming! And thank Maman immensely for the burning coals.”

She gave a quick peck on his cheek and waved him off as he exited the tower. She reveled at the moment until she looked up, seeing the purple goop stain on the wooden ceiling. She sighed.

Tikki flew out of her hiding spot, meeting Marinette’s eyes. She squeaked a few times and blinked, causing Marinette to giggle.

She scratched Tikki under her chin and smiled. “Maybe Ladybug has better footing than Marinette, what do you think?”

Tikki squeaked and flew in a circle around Marinette, resting on her right shoulder. Marinette turned on her toes and grabbed a round satchel that looked like a giant ladybug, throwing it over her neck and laying it on her left shoulder.

She approached a mannequin beside the window the tower, taking off a large sun hat trimmed in black velvet and made with red silk, with a black band and a white feather tucked right side. She placed it on her head with a newfound confidence and did the same with the red and black dotted mask hanging to the side of the mannequin.

Turning to the mirror on the stairs of the tower, she peered into the eyes of a new person. Sure, Marinette was the one wearing the tan pants and the pink belt, the white button-up blouse and black coat. But Ladybug was the mysterious healer hidden behind a mask, a woman called to aid during sickness and tragedy.

Ladybug pulled off the leather glove, setting it on the worktable behind her. She pulled two black lace gloves from her satchel, placing them on with elegance. Walking to the door of the tower, she swung it open, waltzing out feeling like a Queen.

With her head held high she walked down the hill from her tower and into the village. She waved and nodded at the villagers; the smirk plastered on her face never fading. The charismatic Ladybug never stumbled her words or dropped everything in her touch, that was all for that witch who ran the shop in the center of the village, Marinette.

Ladybug took a turn to the right, entering the center of the village, and to her surprise, the villagers were gathering by the fountain. At this time of day people would gather in their homes for dinner, not in the middle of the village. Why were they gathering? What was so important?

She approached a tall man with blonde and black hair, standing off to the side and nudged him with her elbow. He turned to her and raised her eyebrows, then titled his head.

“Yes, Mlle Ladybug?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me why all the people are gathering here?”

 The man snorted. “Gabriel Agreste has decided his new inspiration is the village. Smart guy decided to walk through the village, like he didn’t expect people to knew who he was.”

Ladybug felt the world around her shatter. Gabriel Agreste. Gabriel Agreste, the famed designer, author, scriptwriter. The very Gabriel Agreste who had designed gowns for the Queen of England. Gowns she had only dreamt of seeing in person rather than a sketch in the newspapers or on the billboards in Paris.

Before deciding to focus on her business, Marinette wanted to be a designer. She would save up money working in the family shop just to buy fabrics, she would dream of working with Parisian aristocrats, designing the gowns for their balls. But… she was a witch, not a designer. The only thing that remained of this obsession was her habit to make her own clothes. She was dedicated to her family craft now. She didn’t have time to design, nor did she have time to marvel at Gabriel Agreste, one of the best designers of the decade.

It was in this moment that she thought of things she should do,  rather than try to see the man himself. She should go to the market before the last merchants go home, she should get the ingredients for the spells she’d been commissioned for. She should open her mind to new ingredients for the spell she was working on. She should keep walking towards the market, she should ignore the crowd of people, she should keep walking. She really needs to keep walking.

Ladybug kept her gaze low as she cut through an alley to avoid dodging the crowd. Quickening her pace as temptation grew stronger, urging her to turn around, just to get a glimpse of the man behind some of the most inspiring designs she’d ever seen.

She cut through another alleyway; she had already dodged the crowd, she just needed to get to the market before the sun goes under the horizon. She usually took the long way, she loved talking to the villagers and take in the sights of the country as the breeze blew through her hair.

Refusing to look up, even if there was an ache in her neck, she continued through the alleys and streets. She knew where she was going; she had lived in the village long enough to learn every in and out. She was Ladybug; she had the confidence to match her knowledge. She just had to get to the market, then she could-

Have a face full of cloth.

Have a face full of cloth?

Ladybug blinked, her gaze straight. The cloth was white; it was just a loose white button up; the pants and shoes were white too. Had she run into an angel? She dared herself to look up, embarrassment burning on her cheeks.  


“I’m so sorry!” She cried, moving her head up slow, her heart racing.

The sun was almost under the horizon, the sky so orange that when she finally met the pale face with the button nose, the perfect lips and luminous blonde locks, she met the gaze of the most beautiful green eyes she’d ever seen.

And then someone screamed.

  
   
                                                                                                           |x.x.x|

 

Any other rich kid from the city would hate moving to a small village on the outskirts of Paris, just so their father can relish in inspiration. Adrien was not one of these rich kids.

His father had cooped him up in their mansion in Paris, only letting him out to bring him along to represent the image of perfection. Make others jealous of the famous Gabriel Agreste and his son, make them forget the tragedy that follows him. The monsters that follow his presence.

Adrien just needed to breathe fresh, pure air. Not city air, but the air of the country. And the opportunity was finally being presented to him.

On arrival, Adrien made it keen to come up with any excuse he could to leave the house and explore the village. He considered his options on the carriage ride there, he could say he needed to stretch his legs. Or perhaps, he could persuade his personal guard to take him to the market so he could acquaint himself with the people in the village.

Stepping out of the carriage, he followed the gravel path to the small (but significantly larger than every cottage in the village) home. It looked old, as moss covered the stones that made up its walls. The shingle roofing’s color had faded, yet the windows were made of spotless glass, almost as if they weren’t there. Adrien sighed and relaxed as a housemaid opened one window on the second floor, _the windows opened._

Entering through the front door, he was greeted with the smell of aging wood and country soil. Refreshing when compared to the scent of lemons and burning spruce wood having been ingrained into his nose from years of solitude.

He eyed the couches, as dusty as they looked he sat down, throwing his bag down. Avoiding his father’s gaze as he stepped in, sighing in Adrien’s direction.

“Would you like to explore the village, son?”

Adrien’s eyes widened, raising his eyebrows he leaned forward on the couch, running a hand through his hair.

“Really father?”

“I think we should do it together, become acquainted with the people in our new home.” Gabriel sighed, stepping aside so the staff could bring in the rest of the luggage.

Adrien stood up, furrowing his eyebrows. “Aren’t you worried of getting swarmed by the people?”

“We have a personal guard for a reason.”

Adrien smiled, brushing off his pants. “I’d love to explore the village, father.”

“Lead the way then.”

Adrien exited the home and walked down the gravel path, waiting for the carriage to exit through the wrought-iron gate before going through himself. He could feel his father behind him, but not the sting of his gaze.

Rubbing his thighs, Adrien slowed his pace, letting his father catch up with him. Gabriel walked ahead of him, making his way to the center of the town. Adrien could feel the eyes of their personal guard, who he had given the name “Gorilla,” when he was young, he fidgeted with the trim of his shirt, glancing back to him and smiling.

He wanted to leave, go on his own for a while, not under the watch of his father or the Gorilla. Adrien attempted to keep his composure the best he could, clasping his hands together and twiddling his thumbs as his father walked deeper into the village. His stomach churned as he anxiously eyed any means of escaping.

As his father entered the center of the village, Adrien smiled at the circle of cobble road surrounded by short buildings. A moss-filled stone fountain in the center, it only half-worked, yet glistened in the setting sun.

The thought of anyone Adrien knew in Paris being here crept into his mind, making him smirk. He didn’t have many friends, but those who he knew were specific with their tastes; only accepting the highest quality. Like Chloe Bourgeois, his childhood friend and the daughter of a rising Parisian aristocrat. She could barely walk the city without complaining about the age or the lack of shine. Adrien doubted she would last a minute here.

With such fame, you only need one person to start a chain reaction. One person’s brain clicked, going through all the phases and settling on the correct answer. Is that who I think it is? Why would they be here? I think that’s who I think it is… well; I have to ask them for an autograph or something, right?

Adrien’s eyes trailed to a person with bright red hair, eyes wide and gaping mouth standing out as they slowly approached his father. Some people just wanted to talk to him, have a conversation with the accomplished man that was Gabriel Agreste. Even ask him about the monster’s he’s seen and the unfortunate luck that follows him.

The people began to become a crowd; the Gorilla stepped in front of Adrien and began to keep people at a distance. Adrien rolled his eyes as the signature Gabriel Agreste expression painted itself onto his father’s face. He had straightened himself and clutched his hands behind his back in discomfort.

Adrien’s heart dropped into his stomach, realizing that this was his moment. He had the perfect distraction; he could finally go out on his own.

Exhaling harsh enough that he felt his throat scratch, he inhaled and held his breath, turning on his heel and breaking out in a run towards the shift in the road to his left.

The breeze that seemed to flow through the village now whipped his blond locks back. After he had crossed through two streets, he slowed, although he would have wanted to continue running, his chest had begun to burn with each breath.

It would take a while for the Gorilla to notice he was gone, and he probably wouldn’t be able to leave his father’s side. Not that far away from the center, but it was far enough for Adrien to sigh with content.

Whistling as he strolled on the street, the people looked and some even gawked. Adrien smiled to each of them with the charm he’d been working on since he was young.

He relished in the breeze, breathing in slowly and taking in the village’s scent. Some wood burning here, some spiced herbs there, and a lingering smell similar to the smell of soil after rain.

He kept to the left side of the road and looked in every direction he could, scrunching his nose at the sight of the city, far enough away so to not make his stomach churn, but close enough to fill the back of his mind with dread from the awful memories. Taking another deep breath in through his nose he scrunched his face, smelling… something. It wasn’t pleasant, but it also wasn’t terrible. He didn’t know how to describe it; it brought back a feeling. The feeling of never seeing his father for most of his childhood. The feeling that filled the room after his mother had died. The feeling of-

Adrien felt something collide with him, he tensed up, feeling a warmth in his abdomen. Looking down, he saw a vibrant red silk hat, lined with black and with a bright white feather tucked in the side.

“I’m so sorry!” A high-pitched voice cried. Adrien smiled, he put on his best look of sincerity as the owner of the voice met his gaze.

Adrien’s mouth gaped, the girl wore a spotted red mask lined with black lace; she had the darkest hair, like a midnight sky, yet in the orange sunset it almost gleamed blue. And her eyes… her eyes were the softest blue, a blue that made you feel rather than remember. And Adrien liked that feeling. 

And then someone screamed. 


End file.
